Baby Love
By Colleen R. Lee
As I approach the third year of my fourth decade, I have come to the realization that very soon, I’m going to be too old to have another baby. For some reason, this fact has caused me to become obsessed with babies. I see them EVERYWHERE. That wouldn’t be so bad, but each time I see one, I start to cry. It’s starting to become embarrassing.
The worst episode was at my youngest daughter’s dance recital. The first three groups to perform were the tiny toddlers who were swathed head to toe in brightly colored tulle and had giant flowers perched on their heads, making them look like they just stepped off the pages of an Anne Geddes book. As I watched these chubby cherubs smiling, their tiny arms raised over their heads, trying to lift up a leg without falling over, tears were streaming down my face. No sooner would I dry my eyes, another group would toddle onto the stage and I’d start crying all over again. At one point, the littlest flower got scared and stood on the steps of the stage with her mother, and her four year old brother, kept pushing her back onto the stage. While my husband was cracking up, I was sobbing even harder. My husband just sadly shook his head at me – after thirteen years of marriage, he’s used to my strange idiosyncrasies.
I’m sure there’s a psychologist ready to jump in right about now, nodding sagely, and saying, “Oh, that’s just classic Blah, Blah, Blah, due to the fact that you are coming to the realization that soon your body will no longer be able to produce children. It’s a natural grieving process.” Do I want another baby? Absolutely NOT! BUT…there are days when I miss how little and dependent my kids were on me. I miss that soft baby smell, the soft hair at the nape of their neck. I miss the newness of their smiles – each one a precious jewel that out sparkled the sun. I miss those quiet times when my babies fell asleep in my arms and how my soul would be soothed and my world would be perfect. (Great, I can’t even write this paragraph without the tears starting again!)
This is where I have to mentally slap myself and say, “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? REMEMBER THE SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, THE LEAKY DIAPERS, THE NOISE, NOISE, NOISE, NOISE! REMEMBER THAT YOUR WALLS STILL HAVEN’T RECOVERED FROM THE CRAYON SCRIBBLING STAGE. YOU WOULD HAVE TO START CARRYING A DIAPER BAG AGAIN. YOU WOULD NEED TO REDO THE OFFICE AND TURN IT INTO A NURSERY. YOU WOULD NEVER, NEVER, NEVER BE ABLE TO LOSE THE BABY WEIGHT AT THE AGE OF 43! YOU WOULD HAVE TO GET ANOTHER MINI-VAN!”
Then I blow my nose and I’m fine…until I see another baby and a tiny voice in my head says, “Who cares? It would be worth it.”
First Printed in the July 2011 issue of Richmond Parents Monthly
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Colleen's Clean Out the Cabinet Trail Mix Cookies
Looking for a new cookie recipe for summer? Tired of all those half opened bags of snacks that are lingering in your kitchen cabinets? Well, my ‘Clean Out the Cabinet Trail Mix Cookies’ are a delicious solution to this problem.
Follow your favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe and add whatever snacks are hanging out in your kitchen cabinets. For my cookies, I added:
½ bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips
½ bag of milk chocolate chips
½ cup of cashews
½ cup of walnuts
1 jar of shelled pistachios
1 container of dried whole cranberries
Mix everything together and bake! They were AWESOME!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
To Run or Not to Run (First print in April 2009 Richmond Parents Monthly)
Since the Monument Avenue 10K is right around the corner and I still have never entered, I thought you would enjoy this reprint from a couple of years ago.
I’m ashamed to say that I have lived in Richmond for 17 years and have never participated in the Ukrop’s Monument Avenue 10K Race. In fact, the closest my family and I have ever gotten to the race, was 2 years ago when we accidentally stumbled across the marathon during our monthly trek to Rainbow Donuts… a great local donut shop on West Broad St.
Of course, only in the Frumpy Zone can you hear this conversation:
“Look at all the runners, kids.”
“Are they running to the Donut Shop?”
“No son, they’re just running.”
“We better hurry Daddy, before the runners take all the donuts with sprinkles.”
At this point, I eyeball my husband’s gut and my ever expanding waistline and sigh.
My husband says, “We should do the race next year.”
I smirk, and say, “Remember the Smoky Mountains.”
At this point my husband shudders and says, “Never mind.”
To understand our marathon aversion, we need to travel back in time, to when the Frumpy Zone was a nebulous cloud just starting to form into the twisted galaxy it is now, to when we were a simple family of three – not five. We were vacationing in the Smoky Mountains and decided to hike a 5 mile trail which we had done once before – when we were just a couple. But this time we would bring our 2 and a half year old daughter – without the stroller.
How hard could it be? She only weighed 25 lbs. We figured we could easily take turns carrying her if she got too tired. Oh, how young and naïve we were.
As they say on SpongeBob…2 HOURS LATER…
Chests heaving, muscles cramping, and cursing our stupidity, we found out the hard way that while 25 lbs. doesn’t seem like much when you’re carrying a sleeping child from the car to the bed; uphill on rocky, root infested terrain, 25lbs. feels like 250 lbs. It took us an entire day to complete a trail that should only have taken 2 hours.
Years have gone by, and the Frumpy Zone has fully developed. Our youngest child – age 4 – is almost able to make it through the Rockwood Park trails without whining, “Mama, carry me.” Rainbow Donuts has sadly closed its doors, but the Ukrop’s Monument Avenue 10K is still going strong. Perhaps next year we’ll find the courage to participate… or maybe we’ll discover another local donut shop.
I’m ashamed to say that I have lived in Richmond for 17 years and have never participated in the Ukrop’s Monument Avenue 10K Race. In fact, the closest my family and I have ever gotten to the race, was 2 years ago when we accidentally stumbled across the marathon during our monthly trek to Rainbow Donuts… a great local donut shop on West Broad St.
Of course, only in the Frumpy Zone can you hear this conversation:
“Look at all the runners, kids.”
“Are they running to the Donut Shop?”
“No son, they’re just running.”
“We better hurry Daddy, before the runners take all the donuts with sprinkles.”
At this point, I eyeball my husband’s gut and my ever expanding waistline and sigh.
My husband says, “We should do the race next year.”
I smirk, and say, “Remember the Smoky Mountains.”
At this point my husband shudders and says, “Never mind.”
To understand our marathon aversion, we need to travel back in time, to when the Frumpy Zone was a nebulous cloud just starting to form into the twisted galaxy it is now, to when we were a simple family of three – not five. We were vacationing in the Smoky Mountains and decided to hike a 5 mile trail which we had done once before – when we were just a couple. But this time we would bring our 2 and a half year old daughter – without the stroller.
How hard could it be? She only weighed 25 lbs. We figured we could easily take turns carrying her if she got too tired. Oh, how young and naïve we were.
As they say on SpongeBob…2 HOURS LATER…
Chests heaving, muscles cramping, and cursing our stupidity, we found out the hard way that while 25 lbs. doesn’t seem like much when you’re carrying a sleeping child from the car to the bed; uphill on rocky, root infested terrain, 25lbs. feels like 250 lbs. It took us an entire day to complete a trail that should only have taken 2 hours.
Years have gone by, and the Frumpy Zone has fully developed. Our youngest child – age 4 – is almost able to make it through the Rockwood Park trails without whining, “Mama, carry me.” Rainbow Donuts has sadly closed its doors, but the Ukrop’s Monument Avenue 10K is still going strong. Perhaps next year we’ll find the courage to participate… or maybe we’ll discover another local donut shop.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Magic is Back, Baby!
Something about a snowy day makes me want to bake cookies. However, for the last 4 years, I seem to have lost my 'cookie magic.' No matter how hard I've tried, my cookies have just been horrible- usually burnt or dry- something. My husband just shakes his head and says, "When we were dating, you used to make the BEST cookies."
(Hmmmm, I'm thinking that phrase may be perhaps a euphemism for other things best left untouched in this blog.) Well, when we were dating, of course my cookies were AWESOME- I didn't have anything better to do.
Today, when I saw the beautiful snow covered trees, I was filled with the cooking making urge, so I decided to try a new recipe for chocolate chip peanut butter cookies. I put them in the oven just as the kids were heading out to play in the snow. When I took them out of the oven, I could not believe my eyes! They looked AMAZING! Perfectly shaped,golden brown, not too crispy, just a tad chewy. They tasted even better than they looked! The best part was that I got to enjoy my warm cookies and coffee in utter peace and quiet while the kids were outside playing in the snow.
I don't know what happened but my 'cookie magic' has returned, much to my husband and children's delight.
Great Recipe for Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies:
1/2 cup of softened butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 & 1/3 cups flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
milk chocolate chips (I used 1/2 bag)
Heat oven to 350 degrees.
Beat butter, peanut butter together. Beat in sugars, then eggs and extract.
Fold in flour, baking soda and salt. Add chocolate chips.
Bake for 10-12 minutes until lightly browned.
(Hmmmm, I'm thinking that phrase may be perhaps a euphemism for other things best left untouched in this blog.) Well, when we were dating, of course my cookies were AWESOME- I didn't have anything better to do.
Today, when I saw the beautiful snow covered trees, I was filled with the cooking making urge, so I decided to try a new recipe for chocolate chip peanut butter cookies. I put them in the oven just as the kids were heading out to play in the snow. When I took them out of the oven, I could not believe my eyes! They looked AMAZING! Perfectly shaped,golden brown, not too crispy, just a tad chewy. They tasted even better than they looked! The best part was that I got to enjoy my warm cookies and coffee in utter peace and quiet while the kids were outside playing in the snow.
I don't know what happened but my 'cookie magic' has returned, much to my husband and children's delight.
Great Recipe for Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies:
1/2 cup of softened butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 & 1/3 cups flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
milk chocolate chips (I used 1/2 bag)
Heat oven to 350 degrees.
Beat butter, peanut butter together. Beat in sugars, then eggs and extract.
Fold in flour, baking soda and salt. Add chocolate chips.
Bake for 10-12 minutes until lightly browned.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Farewell, Sheena Bear
This picture was the last picture we took of Sheena with the family at Laurel Falls in the Smoky Mountains last spring.
Last month we had to say goodbye to our dog, Sheena Bear, who had been a member of our family for fifteen years. Looking back, I realize that it was Sheena who prepared me for parenting in the Frumpy Zone.
June 1995
During the last week of school, the custodian brought in a puppy that needed a home. I took one look at the tiny ball of gray fluff and fell in love. I immediately grabbed her and cuddled her to my chest where she gave me a tiny lick on my chin.
I carried her down the hall to show off the new baby to my teacher friends. I stood in the doorway, holding her close and suddenly felt warm liquid dripping down my arms. My baby had peed all over me – this is when the portal to the Frumpy Zone first opened.
The next day, I brought Sheena back to school so she wouldn’t be alone all day.
(I was well on my way to becoming one of those spinster ‘cat ladies’ – except with a dog.) The drive into work made my baby car sick. I didn’t know she hadn’t been dewormed, so imagine my ‘grossification’ when I discovered that Sheena had thrown up a stomach full of spaghetti looking worms! EW, EW, EW, they were still MOVING! Perhaps I wasn’t cut out for motherhood.
Despite the rocky start, Sheena filled an empty space in my heart that I didn’t even know I had. Once I got married, Sheena accepted my husband into our small pack.(Goodbye dreams of spinsterhood.) Then baby #1 came along. Immediately, I was sucked into the portal of the Frumpy Zone, and no longer had any time to treat my dog like a child.
Despite the fact that Sheena had been demoted back to dog status, she treated all three of my children as if she was Nana from Peter Pan.Over the years, as she got older, Sheena slept more and more, but periodically, she would jump around and give her little ‘let’s play’ growl. We would shake our heads and think how lucky that our dog still acted like a puppy.
When we brought the new kitten into the house last spring, Sheena just looked at us with sad eyes that said, “REALLY?, You’re gonna make me deal with this little punk in my golden years?” She DID growl at him the first night, but after that, resigned that she was stuck with this newest member of the pack, Sheena sighed, put her head on her paws, and let the ‘newbie’ practice his pouncing skills on her tail.
I knew that Sheena’s time with us was coming to an end, but I still wasn’t ready for it. One morning, she fell down the stairs and dislocated her hip. Making the decision to put her down was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. The possibility of her recovering completely and living the rest of her days - pain free - were slim. How do you say goodbye to someone who has been such an integral part of your life?
That day, Sheena Bear was promoted back to human status as my husband and I held her, our tears dripping onto her fur while we said goodbye. The Frumpy Zone has a black hole without our dear Sheena Bear.
Last month we had to say goodbye to our dog, Sheena Bear, who had been a member of our family for fifteen years. Looking back, I realize that it was Sheena who prepared me for parenting in the Frumpy Zone.
June 1995
During the last week of school, the custodian brought in a puppy that needed a home. I took one look at the tiny ball of gray fluff and fell in love. I immediately grabbed her and cuddled her to my chest where she gave me a tiny lick on my chin.
I carried her down the hall to show off the new baby to my teacher friends. I stood in the doorway, holding her close and suddenly felt warm liquid dripping down my arms. My baby had peed all over me – this is when the portal to the Frumpy Zone first opened.
The next day, I brought Sheena back to school so she wouldn’t be alone all day.
(I was well on my way to becoming one of those spinster ‘cat ladies’ – except with a dog.) The drive into work made my baby car sick. I didn’t know she hadn’t been dewormed, so imagine my ‘grossification’ when I discovered that Sheena had thrown up a stomach full of spaghetti looking worms! EW, EW, EW, they were still MOVING! Perhaps I wasn’t cut out for motherhood.
Despite the rocky start, Sheena filled an empty space in my heart that I didn’t even know I had. Once I got married, Sheena accepted my husband into our small pack.(Goodbye dreams of spinsterhood.) Then baby #1 came along. Immediately, I was sucked into the portal of the Frumpy Zone, and no longer had any time to treat my dog like a child.
Despite the fact that Sheena had been demoted back to dog status, she treated all three of my children as if she was Nana from Peter Pan.Over the years, as she got older, Sheena slept more and more, but periodically, she would jump around and give her little ‘let’s play’ growl. We would shake our heads and think how lucky that our dog still acted like a puppy.
When we brought the new kitten into the house last spring, Sheena just looked at us with sad eyes that said, “REALLY?, You’re gonna make me deal with this little punk in my golden years?” She DID growl at him the first night, but after that, resigned that she was stuck with this newest member of the pack, Sheena sighed, put her head on her paws, and let the ‘newbie’ practice his pouncing skills on her tail.
I knew that Sheena’s time with us was coming to an end, but I still wasn’t ready for it. One morning, she fell down the stairs and dislocated her hip. Making the decision to put her down was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. The possibility of her recovering completely and living the rest of her days - pain free - were slim. How do you say goodbye to someone who has been such an integral part of your life?
That day, Sheena Bear was promoted back to human status as my husband and I held her, our tears dripping onto her fur while we said goodbye. The Frumpy Zone has a black hole without our dear Sheena Bear.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
A Movie Review from the Frumpy Zone
I finally went to see the movie Eat, Pray, Love and of course, since I read the book, I was disappointed.
I also found that Julia Roberts’ upper lip was disturbingly fat and I just couldn’t concentrate when every time I looked at the screen her upper lip was sticking out. She looked like she was recovering from a horrible bee sting. Hollywood ladies, please accept that not everyone has the natural Jolie lips…and that’s OK.
Anyway, after I got past the ‘lip’, I realized that anyone who was seeing the movie without having read the book was going to get bored real fast. Hell, I got bored a few times reading the book too, but the messages were so profound that I persevered.
Then I realized that something else was bothering me. I was jealous. I mean, here’s Liz, a WRITER, who gets to travel to exotic places to do her job and she’s whining about her husband – welcome to marriage. Then she gets to run away from her life to ‘find herself,’ in three different exotic locations. Of course, I have no desire to travel to India or Indonesia, and I can’t afford to gain any more weight so Italy’s OUT. (My three locations would be Ireland, New Zealand and Hawaii.)
But my criticism does stem from envy. I’m sure I would learn a hell of a lot about myself if I spent a year traveling around the world –ALONE! But with three kids, that’s not going to happen for at least 13 more years.
Liz learned so much about herself…this I got from the book, in the movie she still seems like a mess to me – maybe it was the lip. I know that I could never do what she has done, particularly the whole praying/meditating for hours on end. I am truly frightened of what lies within and beyond. I also couldn’t live in a third world country, without air conditioning and bugs everywhere. I’m just not cut out for that.
I did ‘get’ the book and the message it contained. I have a feeling many women are going to be disturbed by it like I was. It makes you question the choices you made in your own life and it shows you that ultimately, if you don’t like the life you have, you CAN CHOOSE to change it!
I started this post thinking that it takes a lot of courage to just drop everything and start your life over. However, I’m wondering if perhaps it takes more courage to work on your issues within the confines of the life you chose. Maybe I should write my own version of the book, I think I’ll call it: Eat,Sleep…Buy Bigger Pants.
I also found that Julia Roberts’ upper lip was disturbingly fat and I just couldn’t concentrate when every time I looked at the screen her upper lip was sticking out. She looked like she was recovering from a horrible bee sting. Hollywood ladies, please accept that not everyone has the natural Jolie lips…and that’s OK.
Anyway, after I got past the ‘lip’, I realized that anyone who was seeing the movie without having read the book was going to get bored real fast. Hell, I got bored a few times reading the book too, but the messages were so profound that I persevered.
Then I realized that something else was bothering me. I was jealous. I mean, here’s Liz, a WRITER, who gets to travel to exotic places to do her job and she’s whining about her husband – welcome to marriage. Then she gets to run away from her life to ‘find herself,’ in three different exotic locations. Of course, I have no desire to travel to India or Indonesia, and I can’t afford to gain any more weight so Italy’s OUT. (My three locations would be Ireland, New Zealand and Hawaii.)
But my criticism does stem from envy. I’m sure I would learn a hell of a lot about myself if I spent a year traveling around the world –ALONE! But with three kids, that’s not going to happen for at least 13 more years.
Liz learned so much about herself…this I got from the book, in the movie she still seems like a mess to me – maybe it was the lip. I know that I could never do what she has done, particularly the whole praying/meditating for hours on end. I am truly frightened of what lies within and beyond. I also couldn’t live in a third world country, without air conditioning and bugs everywhere. I’m just not cut out for that.
I did ‘get’ the book and the message it contained. I have a feeling many women are going to be disturbed by it like I was. It makes you question the choices you made in your own life and it shows you that ultimately, if you don’t like the life you have, you CAN CHOOSE to change it!
I started this post thinking that it takes a lot of courage to just drop everything and start your life over. However, I’m wondering if perhaps it takes more courage to work on your issues within the confines of the life you chose. Maybe I should write my own version of the book, I think I’ll call it: Eat,Sleep…Buy Bigger Pants.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Birthday Blues
My youngest turns 6 today. It is the official end of the ‘baby years.’ This year, she will grow a couple of inches; lose the chubby cheeks, knees, elbows, and toddler belly. She’ll probably even lose that cute ‘baby way’ of talking. “Them don’t know, mama.” I let her sleep in my bed last night because I wanted-no- needed to be close to her when she magically turned 6 in the night. Of course, the kick to the ribs at 3:00am reminded me why I don’t like to sleep with her all night. (Sometimes she wants to come into the bed to fall asleep and her daddy will transfer her to her own bed.)
Last night, I was filled with visions of babies, knowing that she’s my last. My heart ached, but a hard kick to the bladder, reminiscent of when she would do that from the INSIDE, brought me back to reality. What was I thinking? My 42 year old body could never handle another pregnancy. My 42 year old mind couldn’t handle another kid. So I’ll hug my sweet baby and enjoy the fact that she is growing up and there are many more adventures to be held…thankfully, changing diapers is no longer one of them. Happy Birthday, Julianna Rose!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Life's a Beach!
With the kids spending this week at my parents’ house in Pittsburgh, my husband and I have planned an impromptu mini-vacation to the beach. It has been 12 years since we’ve been to the beach without kids. Despite the fact that the beach is one of the most relaxing vacation spots ever, when you add kids to the mix, it actually can become quite stressful at times.
First, you have the packing. You have to think of every emergency imaginable and then make sure that you pack for it. Did you pack one pair of sweats for each kid in case a freak cold front blows through? Do you have antibiotic cream, allergy cream, anti-itch cream, and band-aids for all types of beach related injuries? Do you have 5 different levels of sun screen, and aloe vera gel? Do you have sandals, flip flops, swimmy shoes, swimmy vest, beach towels, pool toys, and fishing gear? The packing list can go on forever. When you finally get everything stuffed in the van, there’s barely room for the family to sit - let alone sit comfortably.
When we finally get to the beach, I want to walk the beach, but the kids want to play in the pool, which means I have to go and ‘play’ in the pool too.
At the beach, I try not to get dizzy watching three kids, in three different places all the while praying that a shark or giant wave doesn’t get one child while my eyes are focused on another.
Then there’s the ‘sea fishing’ that my son and husband like to do. I have visions of hooks getting stuck in flesh, nasty fish germs on tiny fingers that end up in tiny mouth, giant fish pulling my son and pole off the pier. Those worries are best left to my husband.
After a day filled with sun and sand, the kids have to shower first, or the beds will be filled with sand, which means by the time I get my shower, the hot water is gone and all the towels are soggy.
Then I have to worry about making sure the kids are staying hydrated so they don’t get sun poisoning, keeping their ears drained so they don’t get swimmer’s ear, providing enough ‘healthy’ food so they don’t get stomach aches and….well, the list goes on and on.
So you can see, the fact that tomorrow, my husband and I are going to the beach for three days without our children is truly worthy of some celebration. I’m not quite sure how my husband and I are going to survive this trip without kids. I can tell you this: we will be packing light, VERY light.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Welcome Back
After a LONG hiatus, I am ready to entertain the masses once again with my adventures in the Frumpy Zone. What? You don't have time to read about my issues, you've got your own crap to deal with? I understand. Well, whenever you feel that you are being swallowed up by the insanity of your world, take a break, and check out the Frumpy Zone. You will return to your world thanking the gods for the chaos in your own life. At least, you'll get a laugh and a short break.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Frumpy Fashion Quiz
Frumpy’s Fashion Tips:
Warning:
The tips are most likely not appropriate for anyone who takes fashion seriously.
Take the quiz below to see if this site is for you.
Frumpy's Fashion Quiz:
1. Your favorite place to shop for clothes is
A. Upscale mall
B. Department Store Clearance Racks
2. The tags on your clothes state
A. Dry clean only
B. Wash and wear
3. You wear clothes to
A. Look fabulous
B. Feel comfortable
4. The most you would pay for a pair of jeans is
A. Money isn’t an object if they look great.
B. No more than $50 – and for that price they better look good on me!
If you chose A for most of your answers:
Stay away from this site. It is totally inappropriate for a woman as classy as you. If you already looked ahead then quickly shut down your computer, head to Nordstrom’s and buy a pair of Italian leather shoes…full price. You’ll feel much better.
If you chose B for most of your answers:
Welcome to the Frumpy Zone! This site will let you know where to find all the great fashion bargains and give you great fashion tips like: floral pastel printed blouses are great at hiding spit-up stains. Gauzy peasant skirts are perfect for catching puke.*
*This really happened. I was at the pediatrician's office with my son when he was
four. He had a horrible cough, lots of congestion, and a fever. When they did the finger stick he literally cried so hard that he puked all over me. Luckily, I had on
my gauzy peasant skirt and was able to catch it all, walk over to the sink, rinse it out with pleasant smelling hand soap and be on my way. By the time we got home, my skirt was dry and no one could have known that I had been wearing vomit an hour before.
FZ
F A S H I O N
Warning:
The tips are most likely not appropriate for anyone who takes fashion seriously.
Take the quiz below to see if this site is for you.
Frumpy's Fashion Quiz:
1. Your favorite place to shop for clothes is
A. Upscale mall
B. Department Store Clearance Racks
2. The tags on your clothes state
A. Dry clean only
B. Wash and wear
3. You wear clothes to
A. Look fabulous
B. Feel comfortable
4. The most you would pay for a pair of jeans is
A. Money isn’t an object if they look great.
B. No more than $50 – and for that price they better look good on me!
If you chose A for most of your answers:
Stay away from this site. It is totally inappropriate for a woman as classy as you. If you already looked ahead then quickly shut down your computer, head to Nordstrom’s and buy a pair of Italian leather shoes…full price. You’ll feel much better.
If you chose B for most of your answers:
Welcome to the Frumpy Zone! This site will let you know where to find all the great fashion bargains and give you great fashion tips like: floral pastel printed blouses are great at hiding spit-up stains. Gauzy peasant skirts are perfect for catching puke.*
*This really happened. I was at the pediatrician's office with my son when he was
four. He had a horrible cough, lots of congestion, and a fever. When they did the finger stick he literally cried so hard that he puked all over me. Luckily, I had on
my gauzy peasant skirt and was able to catch it all, walk over to the sink, rinse it out with pleasant smelling hand soap and be on my way. By the time we got home, my skirt was dry and no one could have known that I had been wearing vomit an hour before.
FZ
F A S H I O N
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The Blob Returns
Read part one of The Blob Returns in the October issue of Richmond Parents Monthly.
Note: Please excuse the typo in the above article. It was an editorial error.
You have now entered the Frumpy Zone…a place that sometimes echoes the television sitcoms of the past. Richard Lee spent the previous day in the Frumpy Zone and is only too happy to have left and returned to the reality of work. Unfortunately, his wife, Colleen, wakes up to a world that is colored in varying shades of grey. Her usual t-shirt and yoga pants have been replaced by a knee length light grey cocktail dress. Her red hair, now glossy grey, is clipped in a neat pile on top of her head and she’s wearing a very dark grey lipstick. The Frumpy Zone has now been sucked into an eerie replication of an ‘I Love Lucy’ episode.
Ricky spent the previous day cleaning up the mess from the ‘Blob incident.’ He warned Lucy in his sexy broken English not to wash the towels at one time because they had sopped up an entire bottle of laundry soap.
Lucy, the ever dutiful wife replied, “Yes, Ricky.” Unfortunately, Lucy doesn’t want to spend an entire day washing 10 loads of towels, so she decides to cram just half of the towels into the machine. Forty five minutes later, Lucy opens up the front loading machine only to have a mountain of bubbles froth out onto the floor. “WAAAA, Ricky!!!!!!!” she cries, quickly slamming the door of the machine shut. Luckily, Ricky is at work and can’t hear her cries of distress.
Worried that Ricky will be angry that she didn’t listen, Lucy hurries to clean up this disaster before he gets home. First, Lucy gets a bucket and lets the bubbles drain into it then dumps them in the bathtub. Nex,t she starts lugging heavy, wet towels in the bucket to the bathtub. Each soaking towel weighs about twenty pounds – not an easy task in a cocktail dress and pumps. Lucy is sweating, her hair is escaping its ‘up-do’ and the front of her dress is wet. Thirty minutes later, the towels are draining in the tub, and the laundry closet floor is sparkling.
Emerging from her bedroom in a fresh outfit in varying shades of grey, Lucy calls Ethel and tells her about her latest disaster.
Sometimes, even the worst disasters can provide entertainment. Colleen has spent an unusual day that could have been an old “I Love Lucy” episode…a day that one can only have in the Frumpy Zone.
Note: Please excuse the typo in the above article. It was an editorial error.
You have now entered the Frumpy Zone…a place that sometimes echoes the television sitcoms of the past. Richard Lee spent the previous day in the Frumpy Zone and is only too happy to have left and returned to the reality of work. Unfortunately, his wife, Colleen, wakes up to a world that is colored in varying shades of grey. Her usual t-shirt and yoga pants have been replaced by a knee length light grey cocktail dress. Her red hair, now glossy grey, is clipped in a neat pile on top of her head and she’s wearing a very dark grey lipstick. The Frumpy Zone has now been sucked into an eerie replication of an ‘I Love Lucy’ episode.
Ricky spent the previous day cleaning up the mess from the ‘Blob incident.’ He warned Lucy in his sexy broken English not to wash the towels at one time because they had sopped up an entire bottle of laundry soap.
Lucy, the ever dutiful wife replied, “Yes, Ricky.” Unfortunately, Lucy doesn’t want to spend an entire day washing 10 loads of towels, so she decides to cram just half of the towels into the machine. Forty five minutes later, Lucy opens up the front loading machine only to have a mountain of bubbles froth out onto the floor. “WAAAA, Ricky!!!!!!!” she cries, quickly slamming the door of the machine shut. Luckily, Ricky is at work and can’t hear her cries of distress.
Worried that Ricky will be angry that she didn’t listen, Lucy hurries to clean up this disaster before he gets home. First, Lucy gets a bucket and lets the bubbles drain into it then dumps them in the bathtub. Nex,t she starts lugging heavy, wet towels in the bucket to the bathtub. Each soaking towel weighs about twenty pounds – not an easy task in a cocktail dress and pumps. Lucy is sweating, her hair is escaping its ‘up-do’ and the front of her dress is wet. Thirty minutes later, the towels are draining in the tub, and the laundry closet floor is sparkling.
Emerging from her bedroom in a fresh outfit in varying shades of grey, Lucy calls Ethel and tells her about her latest disaster.
Sometimes, even the worst disasters can provide entertainment. Colleen has spent an unusual day that could have been an old “I Love Lucy” episode…a day that one can only have in the Frumpy Zone.
My First Pink Tool Kit
My First ‘Pink Tool Kit’ Project
My pink tool kit finally came in and I have to say it is sooooo cute! It has everything a novice project creator could want – even a cordless screwdriver. My first project would be to install (such a professional constructive sounding word) 6 plant hangers on the front porch. I only have to measure and screw in two screws apiece. A piece of cake for my adorable pink tool kit. R-I-G-H-T….This is the Frumpy Zone. Nothing is that easy.
It was a dark and stormy night… (Hey, it works for Snoopy.)
Of course it was a little muggy but the sun was hiding behind the clouds and the kids loved watching the storm from the porch. I laid out all of my supplies and got to work. Now I must say one thing before I get started. I am not a meticulous person when it comes to projects. I hate reading directions and I like to do my own thing. When I cook, my recipes never come out the same way twice. I tell you this so you know how dedicated I was when I measured exactly where the first screw would go so each plant hanger would be uniform.
Next, I hammered the screw in place with my pink hammer – too cute. Then I added a Phillips tip to my new pink electric screwdriver. (Of course my daughter had to pry the tips out of my pink tool box because they were stuck and I couldn’t remove them.) Funny thing, my really cute pink handled electric screwdriver wasn’t strong enough to even scratch the wood.
So I tried a Standard tip… no luck….O.K. so maybe pink has sissified my tools… So I dug my old tool kit from the top of the fridge – of course I almost got hit in the head with a grill lighter which clattered to the floor while I was lifting the overflowing tool bag.
I rummaged around until I found a red and black screwdriver with removable tips. After adding a Standard tip, I screwed in my first screw. Not bad, until I got to the end and only had about ¼ inch to go and the screw wouldn’t budge. So I decided to start on the last screw. After much struggling, I finally got both screws in. I was sweaty and tired but filled with a sense of accomplishment. This is so much more rewarding than doing dishes. I know that when this job is done, it will stay done. Unlike dishes, no matter how many times I wash them, there will always be more.
On to the second plant hanger...
The storm slowed down to a drizzle and I was ready for hanger number two. For some reason, the wood on this hanger seemed harder. I couldn’t get the screws to turn. I kept alternately hammering them and then trying to screw them in. My screwdriver kept slipping, leaving little slash marks in the paint. My sore arms were quivering like a bowl of Jell-O. I was hot, sweaty and starting to curse. The bleepin’ screws wouldn’t go in no matter how hard I tried. If I hadn’t already completed one, I would suspect that I was dealing with cement. After quite a bit more sweating and upper arm quivering, I finally finished hanger #2. Total time to screw in four screws: one hour and ten minutes.
Of course after that, I figured I would do the rest later.
When my husband came home from work, I proudly showed him my two installed plant hangers. He wasted no time telling me that it should only take about 10 minutes to screw four screws – with the proper MAN tools of course!
He’s lucky I didn’t hit him over the head with my pink hammer!
The next day, my husband showed me how to use his ‘heavy duty MAN electrical drill/screwdriver combo thingy.’ He even let me try it on one of the screws. It seemed that my husband was running into the same issue: cement-wood. So I gratefully played “Vanna” and handed him all the supplies while he installed the remaining four plant hangers. Total time: one hour
My pink tool kit finally came in and I have to say it is sooooo cute! It has everything a novice project creator could want – even a cordless screwdriver. My first project would be to install (such a professional constructive sounding word) 6 plant hangers on the front porch. I only have to measure and screw in two screws apiece. A piece of cake for my adorable pink tool kit. R-I-G-H-T….This is the Frumpy Zone. Nothing is that easy.
It was a dark and stormy night… (Hey, it works for Snoopy.)
Of course it was a little muggy but the sun was hiding behind the clouds and the kids loved watching the storm from the porch. I laid out all of my supplies and got to work. Now I must say one thing before I get started. I am not a meticulous person when it comes to projects. I hate reading directions and I like to do my own thing. When I cook, my recipes never come out the same way twice. I tell you this so you know how dedicated I was when I measured exactly where the first screw would go so each plant hanger would be uniform.
Next, I hammered the screw in place with my pink hammer – too cute. Then I added a Phillips tip to my new pink electric screwdriver. (Of course my daughter had to pry the tips out of my pink tool box because they were stuck and I couldn’t remove them.) Funny thing, my really cute pink handled electric screwdriver wasn’t strong enough to even scratch the wood.
So I tried a Standard tip… no luck….O.K. so maybe pink has sissified my tools… So I dug my old tool kit from the top of the fridge – of course I almost got hit in the head with a grill lighter which clattered to the floor while I was lifting the overflowing tool bag.
I rummaged around until I found a red and black screwdriver with removable tips. After adding a Standard tip, I screwed in my first screw. Not bad, until I got to the end and only had about ¼ inch to go and the screw wouldn’t budge. So I decided to start on the last screw. After much struggling, I finally got both screws in. I was sweaty and tired but filled with a sense of accomplishment. This is so much more rewarding than doing dishes. I know that when this job is done, it will stay done. Unlike dishes, no matter how many times I wash them, there will always be more.
On to the second plant hanger...
The storm slowed down to a drizzle and I was ready for hanger number two. For some reason, the wood on this hanger seemed harder. I couldn’t get the screws to turn. I kept alternately hammering them and then trying to screw them in. My screwdriver kept slipping, leaving little slash marks in the paint. My sore arms were quivering like a bowl of Jell-O. I was hot, sweaty and starting to curse. The bleepin’ screws wouldn’t go in no matter how hard I tried. If I hadn’t already completed one, I would suspect that I was dealing with cement. After quite a bit more sweating and upper arm quivering, I finally finished hanger #2. Total time to screw in four screws: one hour and ten minutes.
Of course after that, I figured I would do the rest later.
When my husband came home from work, I proudly showed him my two installed plant hangers. He wasted no time telling me that it should only take about 10 minutes to screw four screws – with the proper MAN tools of course!
He’s lucky I didn’t hit him over the head with my pink hammer!
The next day, my husband showed me how to use his ‘heavy duty MAN electrical drill/screwdriver combo thingy.’ He even let me try it on one of the screws. It seemed that my husband was running into the same issue: cement-wood. So I gratefully played “Vanna” and handed him all the supplies while he installed the remaining four plant hangers. Total time: one hour
Friday, December 12, 2008
Labels
Labels
I find it annoying that society, the media, the all elusive 'THEY' have to label mothers. You have the Stay@Home Mom, the Working Mom, Super Mom, Soccer Mom, and now the Blogger Moms. Can you see them lined up like Barbie dolls with all their little matching outfits?
Check out Super Mom Barbie. She has the 'Farrah Fawcett cut' and even comes with a little red cape that can turn into an apron or a silk nightie depending on the situation.(Frying pan and bacon not included.)
Working Mom Barbie is all dressed up with her leather pumps, and matching briefcase, her hair cut in a slick bob. (She has a spit-up stain on her suit jacket.)
Blogger Mom Barbie comes with a laptop and her own Starbucks travel mug.
Soccer Mom Barbie has a designer sweat suit and a cooler filled with snacks, a first aid kit, and Gatorade. (Soccer ball decal included.)
Stay@Home Mom Barbie has her hair pulled back in a pony tail, is sporting Ken's t-shirt, and a pair of faded jeans. None of the other Barbie Moms will talk to her.
Then I went to work full time and WOW, there's the guilt again, except this time it's guilt because I'm not home for everything and guilt because it actually felt good to be away from the chaos for a little while. Despite our circumstances, we are all mothers and have made choices that work for our own independent situations. We need to stick together but for some reason, the media, (made up mostly of men) wants to keep us divided. Why?
Because together and united we have power! God forbid a bunch of mothers actually realize how powerful they truly are. The term Mommy Wars is the most idiotic word I have ever heard. Come on! We all have something in common....we love our kids! We need to stand together and refuse to be labeled. We are more complex than that! (Can you hear the Battle Hymn of the Republic playing softly in the background?) So don't let THEM label us. We are so much more than that.
I find it annoying that society, the media, the all elusive 'THEY' have to label mothers. You have the Stay@Home Mom, the Working Mom, Super Mom, Soccer Mom, and now the Blogger Moms. Can you see them lined up like Barbie dolls with all their little matching outfits?
Check out Super Mom Barbie. She has the 'Farrah Fawcett cut' and even comes with a little red cape that can turn into an apron or a silk nightie depending on the situation.(Frying pan and bacon not included.)
Working Mom Barbie is all dressed up with her leather pumps, and matching briefcase, her hair cut in a slick bob. (She has a spit-up stain on her suit jacket.)
Blogger Mom Barbie comes with a laptop and her own Starbucks travel mug.
Soccer Mom Barbie has a designer sweat suit and a cooler filled with snacks, a first aid kit, and Gatorade. (Soccer ball decal included.)
Stay@Home Mom Barbie has her hair pulled back in a pony tail, is sporting Ken's t-shirt, and a pair of faded jeans. None of the other Barbie Moms will talk to her.
Then I went to work full time and WOW, there's the guilt again, except this time it's guilt because I'm not home for everything and guilt because it actually felt good to be away from the chaos for a little while. Despite our circumstances, we are all mothers and have made choices that work for our own independent situations. We need to stick together but for some reason, the media, (made up mostly of men) wants to keep us divided. Why?
Because together and united we have power! God forbid a bunch of mothers actually realize how powerful they truly are. The term Mommy Wars is the most idiotic word I have ever heard. Come on! We all have something in common....we love our kids! We need to stand together and refuse to be labeled. We are more complex than that! (Can you hear the Battle Hymn of the Republic playing softly in the background?) So don't let THEM label us. We are so much more than that.
FRUMP REBORN
WELCOME TO THE FRUMPY ZONE!
Is this a mommy blog? God, I hope not. For some reason, the term mommy blog makes me shudder, just like the term soccer mom. Sure, I drive a beat up old mini-van and my son just joined soccer last year but in my mind, I AM NOT A SOCCER MOM. (At least I don't have one of those cute soccer ball decals stuck to the back of my van.) So Ok, maybe this is a mommy blog, just don't call it one. I'm still in denial. About what you might ask?
Well, I am denying the fact that even though I am a frumpy housewife with three kids and live in the Frumpy Zone, somewhere deep inside is still the vibrant independent woman that I used to be. She's the one who refuses to be labeled. She's the one who is struggling to keep her identity alive. She's the one who reminds me constantly that even though I am a mother, my life isn't all about serving my family - and – GASP – that’s OK! In fact, when I give her the time she needs, I am actually a better wife and mother. So once again, yea, I'm the Frumpy Housewife with a bloggish domain, but I am not, and never will be a soccer mom with a mommy blog!
So what exactly is the Frumpy Zone? Have you every seen the movie Parenthood with Steve Martin? You know the part where he is watching his son ruin the school play and all of a sudden he’s on this roller coaster and his wife is on it with him laughing and enjoying the ride while Steve is just gritting his teeth and holding on to the bar for dear life…. That’s the Frumpy Zone… a crazy, exhilarating roller coaster ride. A place where mothers can let down their hair and laugh at someone else whose life is just as chaotic as theirs. A place where the bathrooms always need cleaned and your feet stick to the kitchen floor. A place where ALL moms are welcome...even if they are fashionably dressed and a size zero... (are there really any of those out there?)
So welcome to the Frumpy Zone… ease up a bit on the safety bar, laugh and enjoy the ride.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
The Battle of the Smoke Detector Gang
Did you know that October is Fire Prevention Month? I'm sorry to say that the last thing I think of in the Frumpy Zone is fire prevention. Fortunately, my house is filled with high tech Smoke Detectors that are hardwired into my wall, making them eerily intelligent. When the back up battery starts to lose power, the detector automatically lets out a warning beep every 1.5 minutes until someone replaces it. Unfortunately, this always occurs in the middle of the night.
BEEEEP! My dog is the first to notice, thanks to her superhuman hearing ability. BEEEEEP! She jumps on my stomach - and starts shaking - all 38 pounds of her. Then I hear it - BEEP. I wait, there it is again, BEEP. I roll over, nudge my husband and he gets up and handles it.
(That's one of the perks of being married. He kills the bugs, takes care of all vehicle maintenance and gets up when something goes BEEP in the night.)
But last week, my husband was out of town. BEEP, THUMP, OOF, SHAKE! I rolled over and
nudged. 1.5 minutes later...BEEP, SHAKE, SHAKE, WHINE! I rolled over again and OH CRAP! my husband's not there. Well… OK, now what?
I stumbled downstairs to put the dog outside so she wouldn't have a heart attack. While fumbling around in the dark for her leash, she ran away in a fear induced frenzy. After muttering some choice words, I headed back upstairs to deal with the BEEP. I soon discovered that there's no way to tell which detector was beeping. They seemed to be taking turns.
Internal Communication Data from the Smoke Detector Gang:
BEEP! Hey Joe, here she comes, your turn.
BEEP! Pass it on, Buzz, let Joyce take over.
BEEP! I got it from here boys, my battery's feeling a little low.
For a good thirty minutes I'm stumbling around, climbing the kids stool, ripping detectors off the wall, prying out 9 volts, tripping back downstairs, looking for the dog, and digging through the battery box.
Three detectors later and I finally found the culprit! I waited the requisite 1.5 minutes...no beep. I held my breath for another 1.5 minutes... still no beep! Stealthily, I climbed off my stool. Silence reigned, until I heard the scratching. My dog returned, her nervous breakdown complete. I climbed back into bed and snuggled down under the covers.
Hey boys, she's back in bed. Anyone else need a new battery?
BEEEEEEEP!
BEEEEP! My dog is the first to notice, thanks to her superhuman hearing ability. BEEEEEP! She jumps on my stomach - and starts shaking - all 38 pounds of her. Then I hear it - BEEP. I wait, there it is again, BEEP. I roll over, nudge my husband and he gets up and handles it.
(That's one of the perks of being married. He kills the bugs, takes care of all vehicle maintenance and gets up when something goes BEEP in the night.)
But last week, my husband was out of town. BEEP, THUMP, OOF, SHAKE! I rolled over and
nudged. 1.5 minutes later...BEEP, SHAKE, SHAKE, WHINE! I rolled over again and OH CRAP! my husband's not there. Well… OK, now what?
I stumbled downstairs to put the dog outside so she wouldn't have a heart attack. While fumbling around in the dark for her leash, she ran away in a fear induced frenzy. After muttering some choice words, I headed back upstairs to deal with the BEEP. I soon discovered that there's no way to tell which detector was beeping. They seemed to be taking turns.
Internal Communication Data from the Smoke Detector Gang:
BEEP! Hey Joe, here she comes, your turn.
BEEP! Pass it on, Buzz, let Joyce take over.
BEEP! I got it from here boys, my battery's feeling a little low.
For a good thirty minutes I'm stumbling around, climbing the kids stool, ripping detectors off the wall, prying out 9 volts, tripping back downstairs, looking for the dog, and digging through the battery box.
Three detectors later and I finally found the culprit! I waited the requisite 1.5 minutes...no beep. I held my breath for another 1.5 minutes... still no beep! Stealthily, I climbed off my stool. Silence reigned, until I heard the scratching. My dog returned, her nervous breakdown complete. I climbed back into bed and snuggled down under the covers.
Hey boys, she's back in bed. Anyone else need a new battery?
BEEEEEEEP!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Back-teria to School September 2007
Warning: The following topic is very disgusting, particularly if you don’t have kids.
In the Frumpy Zone, September means more than back to school. It means the end of those ‘schedule free’ days. No more late nights and lazy mornings. And most importantly, with the re-entrance into school and daycare, September means the start of ‘The Pathogen Parade.’ From mid-September to mid-June, my family will be attacked by every germ, parasite, and microbe known to man.
Schedule of last year’s Pathogen Parade:
Mid-September: Back to School Bacteria
Three children - three weeks of strep throat.
November: Seasonal Sinus Invasion:
The start of the ‘Great Phlegm War.’
December: Virus Vacation
Our family felled in a single blow by the ‘Virulent Vomiting Virus.’
January: Recurring Ear Infections
Every month until June
March, April, May: Phlegm Fighters
Dripping noses, oozing eyes, clogged ears.
June: Vomit Coughing
My two youngest were the first casualties of the ‘Great Phlegm War.’
Their systems were weak. Feverish, with severe chest congestion and pink eye, they got the worst symptom of all - vomit coughing : uncontrollable coughing which caused involuntary vomiting.
After 48 hours of changing sheets, and washing towels, my husband and I became professional vomit catchers. I became so adept at cleaning up projectile vomiting, that after my 4 year old threw up all over me at the Dr.’s office, the nurse didn’t even notice.
Last but not least, don’t forget the parasites that can bug you throughout the year.
Weekly Paranoia Lice Check –All it took was for one child to get it and my entire house was filled with chaos. Laundry increased ten-fold, and we all had to sit with nasty goo on our heads covered with shower caps. Not to mention the endless hours of combing and washing, combing and washing. So now I have developed OCD of the Scalp. When my children scratch, I immediately get out my ‘special’ comb and flashlight. I don’t care that they were just scratching their big toe, you can never be too careful.
As I say good-bye to the germ-free, healthy days of summer, I shudder at the thought of another school year in ‘The Pathogen Parade.’ I’m working on new legislation requiring a public school uniform: little surgical masks, shower caps and latex gloves so that no child will be left behind…sick at home.
In the Frumpy Zone, September means more than back to school. It means the end of those ‘schedule free’ days. No more late nights and lazy mornings. And most importantly, with the re-entrance into school and daycare, September means the start of ‘The Pathogen Parade.’ From mid-September to mid-June, my family will be attacked by every germ, parasite, and microbe known to man.
Schedule of last year’s Pathogen Parade:
Mid-September: Back to School Bacteria
Three children - three weeks of strep throat.
November: Seasonal Sinus Invasion:
The start of the ‘Great Phlegm War.’
December: Virus Vacation
Our family felled in a single blow by the ‘Virulent Vomiting Virus.’
January: Recurring Ear Infections
Every month until June
March, April, May: Phlegm Fighters
Dripping noses, oozing eyes, clogged ears.
June: Vomit Coughing
My two youngest were the first casualties of the ‘Great Phlegm War.’
Their systems were weak. Feverish, with severe chest congestion and pink eye, they got the worst symptom of all - vomit coughing : uncontrollable coughing which caused involuntary vomiting.
After 48 hours of changing sheets, and washing towels, my husband and I became professional vomit catchers. I became so adept at cleaning up projectile vomiting, that after my 4 year old threw up all over me at the Dr.’s office, the nurse didn’t even notice.
Last but not least, don’t forget the parasites that can bug you throughout the year.
Weekly Paranoia Lice Check –All it took was for one child to get it and my entire house was filled with chaos. Laundry increased ten-fold, and we all had to sit with nasty goo on our heads covered with shower caps. Not to mention the endless hours of combing and washing, combing and washing. So now I have developed OCD of the Scalp. When my children scratch, I immediately get out my ‘special’ comb and flashlight. I don’t care that they were just scratching their big toe, you can never be too careful.
As I say good-bye to the germ-free, healthy days of summer, I shudder at the thought of another school year in ‘The Pathogen Parade.’ I’m working on new legislation requiring a public school uniform: little surgical masks, shower caps and latex gloves so that no child will be left behind…sick at home.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Dogdays of Summer
August is the time of year where the days are long and steamy and the kids are restless and whiny. To help you get through the rest of your summer, I have consulted with a highly specialized team of “Summer Fun Experts,” AKA…my kids. They are experts at wreaking havoc… I mean…creating fun activities using simple household items. I’ve compiled a list of their most recent escapades… I mean… Summer Fun Activities.
1. Hide the Dog Food Bowl.
Summer Fun Expert #3 is obsessed with dog food. Every day, Experts #1 and #2 are dispatched on a quest to find the newest location of the dog’s bowl.
2. 52,000 Pick-Up
In this dog food game, Expert #3 dumps the bite sized food onto the floor and runs around while Expert’s 1 and 2 throw the dog food back in the bowl.
3. Tattoo Parlor – Sidewalk Chalk Version
Expert #1 likes to paint her co-expert’s eyelids, cheeks and fingernails with sidewalk chalk and pretend it’s make-up.
4. Tattoo Parlor – Stamp Pad Version
Expert #2 likes to use a stamp pad - without the stampers - to decorate Expert #3. This results in #3’s body being covered with bright blue rectangles. (Blue bathwater is an added bonus.)
5. Tattoo Parlor – Magic Marker Version
Expert #3 enhances her natural beauty by drawing all over her face, arms and legs with markers.
6. Naked Tag
Expert #3 strips down and runs away while #1 and #2 chase her.
7. Potty Mouth
Experts 1, 2, and 3 love using bathroom words in various combinations. For example, #3’s favorite is “Poo-poo potty head.” This game is now played in the bathroom since we instituted their pre-school rule, “Potty words can only be said in the bathroom.”
8. Steal the Snacks (Insert Mission Impossible theme song.)
Expert #2 likes to sneak down the stairs, slip into the kitchen and seize forbidden snacks back upstairs to Experts #1 and #3.
9. Kill the Spider Web
Expert #2 uses the garden hose to vanquish the evil spider web that hangs over the kitchen windows. When my windows are open, my kitchen floor gets a much needed bath.
10. Stick ‘Em Up
Expert #3 covers her entire body with stickers or band-aids.
Colleen R. Lee lives in the Frumpy Zone with her husband and Summer Fun Experts #1 (age 8), #2(age 4), and #3 (age 3). She believes that one day her children are going to open up a Tattoo Parlor.
1. Hide the Dog Food Bowl.
Summer Fun Expert #3 is obsessed with dog food. Every day, Experts #1 and #2 are dispatched on a quest to find the newest location of the dog’s bowl.
2. 52,000 Pick-Up
In this dog food game, Expert #3 dumps the bite sized food onto the floor and runs around while Expert’s 1 and 2 throw the dog food back in the bowl.
3. Tattoo Parlor – Sidewalk Chalk Version
Expert #1 likes to paint her co-expert’s eyelids, cheeks and fingernails with sidewalk chalk and pretend it’s make-up.
4. Tattoo Parlor – Stamp Pad Version
Expert #2 likes to use a stamp pad - without the stampers - to decorate Expert #3. This results in #3’s body being covered with bright blue rectangles. (Blue bathwater is an added bonus.)
5. Tattoo Parlor – Magic Marker Version
Expert #3 enhances her natural beauty by drawing all over her face, arms and legs with markers.
6. Naked Tag
Expert #3 strips down and runs away while #1 and #2 chase her.
7. Potty Mouth
Experts 1, 2, and 3 love using bathroom words in various combinations. For example, #3’s favorite is “Poo-poo potty head.” This game is now played in the bathroom since we instituted their pre-school rule, “Potty words can only be said in the bathroom.”
8. Steal the Snacks (Insert Mission Impossible theme song.)
Expert #2 likes to sneak down the stairs, slip into the kitchen and seize forbidden snacks back upstairs to Experts #1 and #3.
9. Kill the Spider Web
Expert #2 uses the garden hose to vanquish the evil spider web that hangs over the kitchen windows. When my windows are open, my kitchen floor gets a much needed bath.
10. Stick ‘Em Up
Expert #3 covers her entire body with stickers or band-aids.
Colleen R. Lee lives in the Frumpy Zone with her husband and Summer Fun Experts #1 (age 8), #2(age 4), and #3 (age 3). She believes that one day her children are going to open up a Tattoo Parlor.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Welcome to the Frumpy Zone
Welcome to the Frumpy Zone blog. If you are married and have children then you will be right at home and able to relate. If you’re single, then you probably want to go to my brother’s blog at www.minddung.blogspot.com . Or, if you want to know the truth about being ‘Married With Children’ then read on. My blog might just save you from making one of the biggest mistakes of your life…not that my life is a mistake… it’s just that I have entered a totally different reality… I live in the FRUMPY ZONE (Now would be the time to play my blog theme song.) Welcome and enjoy your peek into my world.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Fighting Forty July 2007
WARNING: This article was written in the throes of a mid-life crisis.
I do my best thinking in the shower. Water drowns out the sound of my inner mom so I can hear my soul speak. (Inner mom is that nagging voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your own mother, “Don’t forget to take the meat out of the freezer… trim kids’ toenails before they turn into claws… need milk...”)
During my last few trips to the shower, I’ve had a terrifying realization: I’m turning 40! O.K. actually, I’ll be forty in 1 year and eight days but for some reason the big FOUR OH is looming over me like Fezzik from the Princess Bride.
I’ve noticed strange symptoms during the last six months: “I think they’re signs of aging,” she said in a strangled stage whisper.
Let’s start with the fact that I’m not able to lose weight. B.F. (Before Forty) to drop a few pounds, I’d eat healthy for a week, work out and – BAM - five pounds gone!
I’ve been dieting and working out like Denise Austen on speed. After one week of this torture, I have lost a total of… DRUM ROLL PLEASE … ½ of a pound! (Don’t you dare say that I’m building muscle and it weighs more than fat - I don’t care - I still have the ‘3 month pregnant belly’ look goin’ on!)
As if turning almost 40 isn’t bad enough, strange developments are taking place on my face. Do I really need to suffer through acne once more - this time with the added joy of wrinkles? My bathroom vanity has more creams, cleansers, and moisturizers than the Clinique counter at the mall.
For the first time in my entire 39 years, I don’t want to acknowledge my birthday. I’m skipping the ‘almost forty’ birthday celebration. I’ll save the party for next year. (Hint to family and friends: I’ve always wanted a surprise party.)
I’ve allowed myself one year and 8 days to contemplate and accept this next milestone in my life. I will turn 40 with grace, style and acceptance of the woman I’ve become – wrinkled acne and all.
You Know You’re Almost Forty When:
The radio only plays your favorite music on ‘Flashback Friday.’
There’s a secret stash of clothes in your closet under the heading: Someday…
Some of those clothes are in style again.
Your eyebrows are no longer the only feature on your face that needs plucked.
Friday night only means it’s the end of the work week.
I do my best thinking in the shower. Water drowns out the sound of my inner mom so I can hear my soul speak. (Inner mom is that nagging voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your own mother, “Don’t forget to take the meat out of the freezer… trim kids’ toenails before they turn into claws… need milk...”)
During my last few trips to the shower, I’ve had a terrifying realization: I’m turning 40! O.K. actually, I’ll be forty in 1 year and eight days but for some reason the big FOUR OH is looming over me like Fezzik from the Princess Bride.
I’ve noticed strange symptoms during the last six months: “I think they’re signs of aging,” she said in a strangled stage whisper.
Let’s start with the fact that I’m not able to lose weight. B.F. (Before Forty) to drop a few pounds, I’d eat healthy for a week, work out and – BAM - five pounds gone!
I’ve been dieting and working out like Denise Austen on speed. After one week of this torture, I have lost a total of… DRUM ROLL PLEASE … ½ of a pound! (Don’t you dare say that I’m building muscle and it weighs more than fat - I don’t care - I still have the ‘3 month pregnant belly’ look goin’ on!)
As if turning almost 40 isn’t bad enough, strange developments are taking place on my face. Do I really need to suffer through acne once more - this time with the added joy of wrinkles? My bathroom vanity has more creams, cleansers, and moisturizers than the Clinique counter at the mall.
For the first time in my entire 39 years, I don’t want to acknowledge my birthday. I’m skipping the ‘almost forty’ birthday celebration. I’ll save the party for next year. (Hint to family and friends: I’ve always wanted a surprise party.)
I’ve allowed myself one year and 8 days to contemplate and accept this next milestone in my life. I will turn 40 with grace, style and acceptance of the woman I’ve become – wrinkled acne and all.
You Know You’re Almost Forty When:
The radio only plays your favorite music on ‘Flashback Friday.’
There’s a secret stash of clothes in your closet under the heading: Someday…
Some of those clothes are in style again.
Your eyebrows are no longer the only feature on your face that needs plucked.
Friday night only means it’s the end of the work week.
Frumpy Father's Day June 2007
Last month I shared with you my discovery of the mysterious book I found called the “Official Mother’s Day Handbook.” What I neglected to mention was the book had an epilogue, called “Father’s Day Wisdom.”
According to this controversial book, since fathers are usually away from their family most of the time, they prefer to spend Father’s Day at home with the kids. The anonymous author states, “Mothers must leave the house for the day, allowing fathers to spend uninterrupted quality time with their children. This demonstrates the wife’s implicit trust in her husband’s ‘mothering’ skills.”
At first glance I was delighted with this intriguing concept. I admit that I am the first one in the household to demand my ‘alone time.’ If I don’t have some time away from the family on a regular basis, I get downright mean! My husband has known for years that I implicitly trust him with my children. But since I started working full time, I realize that he has actually been home with the kids more than I have.
My husband also has become surprisingly organized. He makes sure the lunches are packed, clothes laid out, and all shoes, backpacks and coats are lined up by the front door most nights. (It only took him one morning of playing ‘Find the Shoe’ to show him that NOTHING should be left to chance in the mornings.) Of course, this is the exact opposite of my procrastinating personality. My husband and I are polar opposites – he’s King of the Night Owls and I’m Princess Perky in the morning.
Since being back to work, I know how tired my husband really is when he walks through the door at 8:00 pm. Yet he always has a bear hug and a wrestling move ready for everyone. While I’m very ‘snarly’ at night, he’s all smiles and hugs.
Despite all the times that I have complained about my husband, I realize that our family couldn’t survive without him. He is the one who keeps us lighthearted and gives us strength even on our most frustrating days. He is the one who plays, really plays with the children. He is the one who teaches them how to do chores - where I find it easier to do it myself.
Even my 2 year old knows how to empty the dishwasher. Of course, I mutter about never finding my potato peeler in the same place twice, but hey, my dishes are always done - slightly chipped in places - but clean.
So I guess on Father’s Day, I need to prop up the pillows on the couch, hand my husband the remote, along with an ice cold beverage, and take the kids out for the day so he can relax, and enjoy his favorite sport from his single days – Channel Surfing. And I think I’ll just rip out the epilogue at the end of the book and mail it to a mother who truly needs it.
Disclaimer:
The author wishes the reader to understand that while her husband is awesome, she is still the only one who cleans the bathrooms.
According to this controversial book, since fathers are usually away from their family most of the time, they prefer to spend Father’s Day at home with the kids. The anonymous author states, “Mothers must leave the house for the day, allowing fathers to spend uninterrupted quality time with their children. This demonstrates the wife’s implicit trust in her husband’s ‘mothering’ skills.”
At first glance I was delighted with this intriguing concept. I admit that I am the first one in the household to demand my ‘alone time.’ If I don’t have some time away from the family on a regular basis, I get downright mean! My husband has known for years that I implicitly trust him with my children. But since I started working full time, I realize that he has actually been home with the kids more than I have.
My husband also has become surprisingly organized. He makes sure the lunches are packed, clothes laid out, and all shoes, backpacks and coats are lined up by the front door most nights. (It only took him one morning of playing ‘Find the Shoe’ to show him that NOTHING should be left to chance in the mornings.) Of course, this is the exact opposite of my procrastinating personality. My husband and I are polar opposites – he’s King of the Night Owls and I’m Princess Perky in the morning.
Since being back to work, I know how tired my husband really is when he walks through the door at 8:00 pm. Yet he always has a bear hug and a wrestling move ready for everyone. While I’m very ‘snarly’ at night, he’s all smiles and hugs.
Despite all the times that I have complained about my husband, I realize that our family couldn’t survive without him. He is the one who keeps us lighthearted and gives us strength even on our most frustrating days. He is the one who plays, really plays with the children. He is the one who teaches them how to do chores - where I find it easier to do it myself.
Even my 2 year old knows how to empty the dishwasher. Of course, I mutter about never finding my potato peeler in the same place twice, but hey, my dishes are always done - slightly chipped in places - but clean.
So I guess on Father’s Day, I need to prop up the pillows on the couch, hand my husband the remote, along with an ice cold beverage, and take the kids out for the day so he can relax, and enjoy his favorite sport from his single days – Channel Surfing. And I think I’ll just rip out the epilogue at the end of the book and mail it to a mother who truly needs it.
Disclaimer:
The author wishes the reader to understand that while her husband is awesome, she is still the only one who cleans the bathrooms.
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